


count your blessings

by sleepymoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eggpreg, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Castiel, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymoon/pseuds/sleepymoon
Summary: Castiel has a big announcement to make. Dean... doesn't react too well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [VeraBAdler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler). (Thank you! ♡)

 

Castiel rubs tiredly at his eyes with the back of one hand as he uses the other to place a plate of fuming, just-out-of-the-oven pie in front of Dean. Then he practically slumps in the chair to his side, slipping off his oven mitt with a weary sigh.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean shifts nervously on his chair. Those words... generally, he hates those words. Having to talk about something always meant something was wrong and, in his experience, when something was wrong, it tended to be in an _epically wrong_ sort of way.

“Uh...” he stalls, throwing an alarmed glance at the innocent-looking pie. Is Cas trying to bribe him with food? Because that would be just plain dishonest... and also very likely to work. Dammit.

“'Bout what?” he asks, stabbing a fork into the crispy filling and quickly stuffing his mouth full. At least this way, he hopes, the bad news will be sweetened up a little by the flavor of this delicious home-made peach pie. Which Cas made. God, he really loves him. But also – bad news on the horizon. Right. He needs to stay focused here.

Castiel looks at him from under his heavy, drooping eyelids. The bags below his eyes seem more pronounced than usual. He looks really tired, and a little sick, too. Dean feels a tug of worry in his chest.

“Hey. You okay, Cas? Are you feeling ill?” he asks, reaching out and pressing the back of his hand to the angel's forehead. It's warm, yes. Definitely a bad sign. Angels just don't come down with fevers unless something is very wrong.

“Something happened,” Castiel tells him, looking at him straight in the eyes.

Dean swallows, caught between wanting and not wanting to know.

“You're making me nervous. Come on then, out with it.”

“I am going to be a father,” the angel continues, eyes a little feverish, a little wild.

Dean's hand drops from his forehead as if burned, the words cutting sharply into his heart. He sure as hell hadn't been expecting _that._ He stands up brusquely, chair legs scraping on the floor. Castiel startles at the gesture, following his retreat with a confused, apprehensive frown.

“Dean...?” he calls after him, hesitant.

Dean's back is rigid and bow-string tense, his hands now gripping the edge of the kitchen's sink, head bent low as he draws in one shuddering breath after another and tries very hard not to be sick. Castiel is by his side in mere seconds, the gentlest touch on his shoulder, but it just makes the hunter recoil and shake him off roughly.

“How long has this been going on?” he barks, his jaw clenching tightly in anger.

“What? What has-”

“Who is she? Do I know her?” Dean talks over him, not letting him finish.

Castiel blinks, tilting his head, seeming at a loss for words.

“She...?” he repeats, dubiously.

“The frigging mother, Cas! I want to know who the fuck she is, okay! The one you've been fucking behind my back all this time!” Dean snaps, making Castiel take an instinctive step back. His blue eyes finally widen in horrified realization.

“If you are _implying_ that I had carnal intercourse with a woman while being romantically committed to you and thus fathered a child, then you are an _idiot,_ Dean!”

The hunter opens his mouth, ready to snap right back at him, but then the angel's words register and his mouth soundlessly clicks shut. Castiel bristles at the sight, narrows his eyes at him.

“How could you even think something like that! I would _never!”_ he says, stressing the word. The corners of his mouth turn down in obvious disappointment, and he plops back down on his chair. Dean wordlessly does the same, now feeling mostly guilty and confused.

“But. Wait. You said- You just said you're going to be a father!”

Cas nods tiredly. “I am.”

“Well, excuse me for jumping to conclusions, but that usually means that there's gonna be a baby involved somewhere in the process, right?”

“Yes, of course there is, Dean.”

“And if there's not a mother, where is it supposed to come from?!'”

“It will come in the usual way fledglings do, I suppose,” Castiel replies loftily.

Dean is literally one step away from flipping the table over, pie be damned, but he still forces himself to keep his calm, only gritting his teeth a little as he speaks: “Which _is?”_

“Eggs,” Castiel deadpans, as if he were talking about the weather forecast.

_“Eggs!”_ Dean parrots back, eyebrows raising up to his hairline, “Are you saying that... that baby angels are born from _eggs?”_

“Yes, of course they are,” Castiel confirms, very reasonably.

“O-okay, well, that's just... weird. But unless you're... oh God, _laying_ these eggs yourself, which you obviously aren't, that doesn't explain...” he stops, takes a good look at Castiel's expressionless face. _“Cas_. Oh my God. Cas, you _aren't,_ right? Please tell me you aren't!”

Castiel suddenly looks very uncomfortable, his gaze falling to the mostly untouched pie.

“I was trying to explain it to you, before you started making up absurd assumptions. I had hoped the pie would help...”

Dean stares vacantly at the other man, absolutely floored, while Castiel folds his hands in his lap and bites down on his bottom lip, patiently waiting for the hunter to break out of his stupor.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs finally, in a small, shaky voice, “Are you fucking serious? _You_ \- I mean, an _egg! What._ Cas, you're a _dude._ I mean, you've got a dude's equipment, right? _Dude's parts!_ I mean, I _know_ you do! Come on, this is... insane. And I mean a hell of a lot more insane than our regular kind of insane!”

Castiel merely keeps his gaze lowered on his laced fingers as he replies: “I understand this might come across as shocking to a human, Dean.”

“Oh, do you now? Really? My angel boyfriend just told me he's going to have an egg-baby! I think I'm entirely entitled to freak out!” As he says this, right then, something flickers in Castiel's eyes for less than a second, but it's enough for Dean to notice. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What? What else are you not telling me now? I'm going to grow a tail overnight?! What is it?!”

Castiel visibly collects himself before speaking, squaring his shoulders. “My experience doesn't concern nephilims, but it is very rare for an angel's clutch to be composed of an only fledgling. Since they're not a frequent event in a garrison, usually... an angel lays an average of six eggs at a time.” As he finishes saying this, he chances another look at Dean, whose face is gradually turning a weird combination of green and white.

“Six!” he croaks, face twisting in a tight grimace.

“Generally, yes. But, Dean, we must consider that in our case, it is wholly unpredictable. You're the father, and you're human. Statistics that may apply to newborn angels don't necessarily apply to newborn nephilims, too. We can't know for certain if-”

_“Six!”_ Dean repeats, standing up on wobbly legs.

He mutters something about having to catch some fresh air and he flees from the kitchen, leaving Castiel sitting at the table.

As he steps out of the room, he presses his fists against his eyes, trembling. _Six eggs,_ his brain keeps chanting, like a broken record stuck on repeat. Six baby angels – nephilims? Whatever – all at once? Fuck. How were they even supposed to _fit_ into Cas? God, he really doesn't want to think about that, either. It's too much to deal with. Way too much.

He knows he needs to blow off some steam or else he'll say or do something he might come to regret later, so he goes straight to the garage, slides into the Impala's front seat and slams the door closed. He's just about to turn on the engine when he suddenly realizes he... doesn't quite want to. He doesn't want to drive for miles and eventually stop in a sleazy bar and get drunk off his ass as Castiel is left to deal with this mess all alone. Hell, he must be scared too. Dean knows he is. He can't leave, not when his angel clearly needs him. Slowly, he gets back out of the car, gently tapping his knuckles on her rooftop in thanks for making him see reason.

He finds Castiel in their room, busy collecting clothes and stuffing them inelegantly into an old suitcase he probably found buried somewhere in the closet.

“Cas, what are you doing?” he asks dazedly, standing in the doorway and watching the process.

“There's a motel, not far down the road. I can stay there temporarily until I find a better place. I have enough money with me, a few scammed credit cards, I'll get by just fine,” Castiel explains without once looking at him as he keeps cramming things into the case.

“Cas,” Dean tries, but receives no response. _“Cas!”_ he snaps. “Will you stop! What are you _doing!”_

“I'm leaving, Dean. I thought it was obvious.”

“No, you're not. You're not going anywhere!” the hunter exclaims, appalled at the very idea.

Castiel's eyes darken at that. In a fit of exasperation he flings the shirts on the bed, frustrated and angry and scared. Dean's heart aches at the sight of his angel looking so lost and unnerved.

“What would you have me do, then?” Castiel whispers, eyes watering with all-too-human tears, “You made it clear you don't want them! Nor me! What should I do, then, tell me! What-”

Dean interrupts him by stepping up into his space and forcefully pulling him into his arms, flush against his chest. He presses kisses everywhere he can reach – on his cheeks, his ears, his hair – while thumbing at the wet corners of his eyes. Angels weren't supposed to cry, after all.

“No, no, God, no, I _want them,_ okay. I don't care if we're gonna have to hire an entire army of angelic nannies, I want them, all of them. And you, Cas, of course I do. More than anything, I do. You're not going anywhere, no way. You're staying right here with me, and we're gonna be parents. Together.”

Castiel buries his face against Dean's shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm freaking out, Cas, I'm not gonna lie,” and then, softer, “But yeah, I'm sure.”

*

 

As the angelic pregnancy progresses in the following months, Castiel becomes increasingly receptive to the perks of human food; he takes to eating tuna sandwiches and seems to love vanilla ice-cream above anything else. Sam and Dean stock the freezer full, because no one wants to deal with a cranky angel denied instant fulfillment of one of his cravings (happened once, wasn't pretty). Sam becomes so excited at the prospect of becoming an uncle he even offers to be the one to prepare the nursery _(“Should I buy six cribs, Dean?” “Let's wait until they're born, okay?”)._

Castiel steals Dean's favorite t-shirts and burrows into a pile of blankets in their bed as he watches old movies and cooking shows on Dean's laptop. More often than not, he falls asleep halfway through and Dean has to come rescue his laptop before Castiel accidentally kicks it onto the floor.

He wouldn't admit it under pain of torture, but Dean is used to being the little spoon in bed. As the months tick by and Castiel's belly grows, though, their usual roles get reversed. Dean curls around Castiel's back at night, palm coming to rest on his stomach. As the weeks pass, he begins to find a definite roundness that wasn't quite there before. He lies awake at night, burying his lips against the angel's warm neck, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes, his anxiety rising in waves because there are ten thousands ways this could end badly. He's never been the praying type, but he holds onto Castiel's fingers, lax with sleep, and prays to anyone who's out there listening, _please let them be okay._

*

 

In the end, the eggs are only two.

Dean is secretly relieved because, well, twins? He can do twins. (Or he hopes so, anyway.)

They build a comfortable nest in their room, swaddle the eggs in soft, cozy blankets to keep them warm, and settle down to wait, excited and nervous, for them to be ready to punch and kick their way out of the safe but confining spaces of their cocoons.

They hear the first _crack_ in the middle of the night. Dean bolts upright on the mattress, instinctively going for his gun in the nightstand when he realizes the noise is coming from the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. Castiel pushes back the covers and quickly pads over to the nest, the two eggs pearly white and translucent even in the dark. Dean follows, breath caught in his throat as he clasps the angel's hand. There's a second crack, louder than the first, and pieces of shell start falling until a small, shaky hand emerges from the breach, along with an outraged, ear-piercing wail.

“It's a boy,” Dean gasps, laughing with joy.

They're ecstatic to see he's healthy and whole, and Dean isn't proud to admit he starts sobbing when Castiel nudges him in the shoulder and lets him be the first to hold him. He feels almost weightless in the crook of his arm, has a wet tuft of black hair already, and tiny hands with even tinier fingernails reaching up, up, to touch Dean's chin.

Sam comes barreling into the room, almost skidding in a heap on the floor, hair askew in his face.

“Am I an uncle?” he half shouts, then slaps a hand on his mouth, whispers instead, “Oh God, I am!”

Dean chuckles fondly. “Yeah. Come here, uncle Sammy. Meet your nephew.”

 

They're caught in such perfect bliss at the arrival of their baby boy – they decide to name him Robert “Robbie” Winchester – that at first they don't give too much thought at the fact that its sibling hasn't hatched yet. Castiel says it happens, sometimes, for a small amount of time to pass between one hatching and the next. When Dean asks how long it usually takes, Castiel answers one, two days at most. On the fourth day, though, a puzzled frown appears on the angel's forehead. He sits next to the egg, covering it with his palm and giving it a few careful strokes.

This egg is a bit smaller, paler, and for some reason seems to be taking much longer. They wait and wait for it to crack down the middle just as its brother's did, but a whole week goes by and nothing happens.

There's got to be something wrong, but none of them want to voice their concerns, because then it would be out in the open, impossible to take it back, and they'd have to consider the possibility that maybe... maybe the egg simply won't hatch, because the nephilim inside didn't make it.

They try everything. They wrap it in extra heat with all the covers and blankets they can find and then some more; they even wheel in a little heater to keep the room temperature ideal at all hours.

Dean being Dean, he thinks it's all his fault because of the way he acted when Cas first told him about the pregnancy. Castiel, on the other hand, convinces himself that he must have done something wrong, that he failed to protect his fledgling during the birth. They both feel overcome with helplessness.

Castiel balances the egg in the curve of his arm, rocking it gently, looking down at it with a sadness so soft it could cut through flesh. Dean takes to singing to it all his favorite songs, and when he runs out of them he starts spending hours reading fairy tales aloud as he sits by the nest. Sam joins him in his efforts, the two slowly working their way through the books of the bunker's library.

Between the three of them, they try to make sure to never leave the egg alone for too long.

*

 

One night, Castiel rouses Dean shaking him by the shoulder. Robbie is sleeping between their bodies, so Dean shifts up carefully on his elbows, trying not to wake him. He sees his brother sitting cross-legged in front of the nest, his long fingers skimming the egg's smooth surface with the utmost care. He's speaking in a low, soothing voice.

“You need to come out of there, little one. I know it's cozy and you probably like it a lot, but your daddies need you, and we all wanna meet you. You can make your grand entrance now, it's okay.”

Dean pulls Castiel close against his side, kisses his temple.

He doesn't want to lose hope, not yet. They can't afford to.

As he meets his brother's eyes, Sam gives him a genuine, encouraging smile.

And right then, that's when the egg finally cracks.

*

 

She's the smallest baby Dean has ever seen, so fragile and tiny, but when she latches onto his forefinger he's surprised to find out she's very strong. “Hey, baby bird,” he whispers against her creased brow, covering it in butterfly kisses, “Thank you for not giving up. Thank you, sweetheart.”

He slips her squirming body into Castiel's awaiting arms, smiling at the look of adoration on his face.

Sam is hovering at their side, a manic, relieved grin stretching his lips as he snaps tons of pictures on his phone.

“Have you thought of a name?” Dean asks, still holding one of the girl's hands in his.

“I think...” Castiel murmurs, studying her alert, curious face, “I think she's a Sammie.”

Dean grins, turning to take a good look at his brother's wide eyed, dumbstruck expression.

“Yeah, I love it. I think it's perfect.”

 


End file.
